


Reverberate

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Dismemberment, M/M, Possession, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sanster, Somnophilia, Soul Sex, Soul Touching, Tentacle Rape, paranormal activity, please read the tags, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9407855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This was only a nightmare, he would wake up soon, he was sure of it....But then the nightmare touched him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was brought up after binge-watching horror movies on Friday the 13th.

Something was pulling him. 

Urging him. 

Baiting him. 

**_Just fall and be with me again._ **

It rang like a mantra in his skull, and he relented.  
______________  
The Core was a geothermal labyrinth of dead ends, winding corridors, and looping chambers, enhanced to ward off and confuse prospective humans who threatened to dispatch the monarchy of the monster race. Laced with fiery pits that jettisoned from beneath the foundation, and strong monsters trained with the sole intention of protecting their king through grit and conviction, the Core was a marvelous miracle to the disconsolate population of monsters. And it was marvelous enough to impress Asgore of course; it was worthy enough to hail the imprinted cress of the monarchy, the Delta Rune. 

It was here where W.D. Gaster changed the entirety of the Underground, supplying its people with advancements that would accelerate monster growth and productivity with the means of destroying the barrier and roaming free on the Surface. The Core pumped the Underground full of conductivity and power, basking the Monster race with burnish hope. It was his life’s work, aside from his DETERMINATION experiments that he kept shrouded, muffled, and subdued in the dark confides of his laboratory basement; the Core was his public majesty. 

Heat.

Control. 

Electricity. 

Pure, untainted magic.

This was done from the work of _magic_ —in all of its chaste, unsullied matter. 

He would have no one contaminate it.  
_____________  
Sans was not sure what pulled at him to visit the Core nearly every day. For one, it was nearly inhabitable for most monsters that wielded magical flesh to live in, as the pure torridity was pungent and abrasive enough in some rooms to sear through skin and fur. The stronger monsters that dwelled in the Warrior’s Path had to conceal themselves with armor and steel to fend off the sweltering magic that rolled from the Core’s crevices. Sans could endure the heat, given that he possessed no flesh; however, the magic constricted at his bones and seized his soul in an unforgiving grasp, as if some otherworldly entity held it in purchase, squeezing the magical element with tight abandon. 

The gravity of it all tugged at him, like a marionette controlled and strung up by a puppeteer, to stand along the bridge dimmed from light at the end of the construct. His eye lights roamed over the edge, staring off into the uncharted abyss; the darkness was overwhelming in its wake, stretching deeper and deeper into the mantle of the Earth. Sans gripped at the edge of the banister with shaky phalanges, and his skull strained from its magical ligaments to peek over the bar, but he kept his feet stapled to the ground; it was just so deep and endless, and he was sure that if he tossed a piece of gold into the formation, the darkness would snatch it up and never give it back. 

Sweat elevated at the back of his neck and dripped down his spine, causing his t-shirt and hoodie to stick to his feverish bones as his eye lights grew clouded. His usual, calm smile tightened at the corners of his mandible, grinding down on his jaw; the darkness was sure to snatch him up, and never give him back. 

**_Oh, how easy would it be to just fall._**

Sans shivered as a cool but unjust breeze fluttered through his shirt, caressing his rib cage like a feather to flesh. 

**_Fall now, everything will be alright._ **

Something was threatening to pull him into the depth. Sans could feel it, clogging up his skull with muddled thoughts that fogged up his consciousness. The coolness that wrapped around his bones wracked at his soul, enveloping him with a biting embrace that bewitched his bones to collapse into themselves. His soul pounded on his sternum and his bones rattled in feverish tandem, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t _move_ ; his fear cemented him, rooting him to his sweating mass that visibly soaked through the fabric of his clothing. 

In a split second, his shivering frame came to a jolt. And to add onto the abruptness, a piercing ring reverberated in the inside of his skull and martyred him in agonizing waves. Sans gasped out from his stupor, eye lights rolling in the back of his head from the excruciating torture roaring in his head. 

…Something was numbing his mind, and it felt like his skull was going to explode! 

**_Fall. Now._**

The abnormal force that wrapped around his soul wrenched at him relentlessly, pulling him flush against the railing, facing headlong into the nebulous pit. Sans could not disentangle himself from the sturdy, yet invisible tension that made his bones move on their own accord; his weight shifted onto his toes, and his grip loosened on the rail, preparing to tip over the edge. His eye lights hazed over and shook in their sockets—all he could hear was static, indistinct musings of whispers in his skull—and his jaw opened up to scream out, but it trembled into a breathless sigh. 

Was this how it was going to end?

Papyrus will be so worried and confused; he would scour the Underground searching for him, but there wouldn’t even be dust to find.

He didn’t want to die, not yet. 

From the black void, Sans could vaguely detect grey magic shaping and forming like shadows amidst the daze. He strained his eye sockets at the disembodied figures, and his fear rose in elevation, choking him. 

Like dust particles swirling in light, the strange flecks of magic linked and cemented together to form into a mass of nearly transparent tendrils, reaching and stretching out from the abyss like earthworms emerging from soil. The tendrils shot out to snake around Sans’ clavicles and his neck; they were strangely cool in temperature, and they wriggled along the expanse of his skull, curiously poking and prodding at every opening. The magic did not let up, coiling underneath his jaw, nearly wrenching him from his footing on the ground to fall. 

(no, no, no, no, no, i don’t want this!)

Sans relented with all his might—through his apprehension and alarm—to yank free from the persistent constructs of magic, but in his struggle, his latch on the rail slackened. 

(let go, let go, let go!)

 ** _I need you to fall now._**

(no, no, stop it, please, let go!) 

From the entangling coils of magic in the black void, a peculiar bulk of dust-like fragments collided to structure a set of ghostly fingers, then manifested into a pair of decrepit, grey hands. Within the palms of the appendages rooted holes; the darkness seeped through the holes like grain, and the hands trembled to hold composition, like they would burst from the pressure. 

Sans’ eye lights were wild, and a cold sweat accumulated on his skull, but he continued to struggle with force. The disembodied hands’ shaking vaulted in a light tremor, and slowly opened in a welcoming gesture, fingers extended and palms facing forward as if preparing to catch Sans in his fall, anxiously, longingly.

(please, no, no, this can’t be happening! no!)

 ** _I have been waiting for you._**

**_Please, I need you, I need you to fall._ **

Sans’ eye lights faded, and he shut his sockets in terror, tears biting at the edges. 

“…Who is there?” A hearty voice spoke in reserve from a nearby corridor, startling Sans. 

In a flick of a switch, the appendages unfurled from Sans’ trembling body, and the adamant force that clung to his soul dissipated, allowing him to gasp out in alleviation. The snake-like magic reverted back into the void in trepidation, and the dilapidated hands crumbled like stone, dust flittering and evaporating in the dark atmosphere, leaving Sans to shiver against the railing, unable to move from his shock. 

Knight Knight, with her Good Morningstar, stomped through the corridor, approaching Sans with a tired, haggard stare. 

Sans blinked through his trauma, unable to fully process what the hell just happened. The ringing in his skull dulled to a buzz, and his phalanges managed to withdraw from the bar, but his legs wobbled in his joints, threatening to give out. 

Knight Knight watched quietly as Sans attempted to regain his footing on the ground. 

“…You should not be here. Only those authorized may enter the Core,” The mercenary muted. Her armor was sheen with sweat, and her voice mellowed through her helmet. 

Sans laughed at his expense, but the laugh came out shaky and breathless. He ran a tired hand down his skull to wipe away the sweat that dripped from his mandible, and straightened his clothing from the upheaval, “heh, yeah sorry, i was just, uh, observing.”

His smile twitched at his jaw, but his eye lights nearly shrunk in their sockets, “this place is really cool, y’know,” He gestured at all the electric paneling with a loose arm, “all this magic and energy and electricity…it’s so electrifying.” 

Sans chuckled again at her way to hide his stress, but she did not respond, her stature looming and strung straight. 

“heh, tough crowd.”

Knight Knight breathed deeply, “…I can escort back to the MTT Resort for your own safety.” 

She waved her Morningstar toward the end of the corridor, beckoning for him to follow in her stead. Sans was quick to oblige. 

Sans perked up in relief, “oh, ok, sure. thanks.”

Walking alongside Knight Knight, Sans felt a wave of uneasiness creep behind him, and he frightfully turned his head to shoot a glance back at the bridge. He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of a stray tendril peeking from the railing, fervently straining for him from the pit. 

**_Please come back._**  
_____________  
Sans was apprehensive on his way to his patrol post in Snowdin Forest. His phalanges were clenched into tight fists in his hoodie pockets, and his eye lights followed every foreign sound that came across his way—rustling in the bushes, cracking branches, snow drifts falling from tree-tops, it all made him paranoid. After the incident at the Core, the weight that sat heavy on his bones never dissipated, in fact, the inclination was still tugging at him to go there again, despite the strange event that occurred. Sans still had no clue what possessed him to trek to the Core, all he could remember was the foggy, fleeting haze that clouded his mind, and the continual, indistinct whispers that buzzed around in his skull like flies. It was as if his feet carried him without his own resolution, stringing him along like a doll without reprieve or any notion. By the time he arrived at the dark corridor of the Core however, the light of consciousness had sparked back into him, and he resisted the force of the soul-crushing magnetism that drew him to tumble over the railing.  
If it wasn’t for Knight Knight finding him, he surely would have been swallowed up by the pit, never to see his brother again. 

The thought shook him to his core; he could have died, and no one would even know where he had gone. There would be no evidence, no dust or remnants of himself for anyone to find. 

He couldn’t do that to his brother. 

The chill of the forest swept between his bones as he positioned himself at his sentry station. Papyrus was nowhere to be seen, but he was sure Papyrus would come bounding his way to his station when he was done with whatever tasked he had planned for the day. He could be obtaining more supplies from the market, or perhaps arranging a sparring match with Undyne; but all Sans knew was that he would be alone for a few hours, and while this would normally give him solace that he could slack off and nap at his post, the thought now had a crawl of fear creeping up on his bones. 

He would be out here all _alone_ , for hours. After the Core incident, he was not sure he could trust himself from wandering off again, and his legs ached in a strange way, like he wanted to run. 

But when did he ever want to run?

His post was the furthest away from any of the Royal Guard Dogs and the teenagers that resided in the forest. No one would be there to hear or see him, and surely no one would come fast enough to his aid if he unthinkably teleported. The isolation never really bothered him before, but regardless, a sliver of nervous sweat ran down to meet his jaw at the realization.

Sans sat at his post, intensely scouring through car magazines that he forged from the dump in his own time to keep the tension and fear away. He scanned over every word that wasn’t drenched away due to debris, and soaked in every little amount of detail in all the pictures and advertisements—he focused on all the colors, camera work, and frantically read over every word of every sentence, hoping the distraction would keep his body and mind stapled to the ground. 

This was a newer edition that he acquired; it was only a few months old, and the text was fairly legible, with pictures that still glossed with eye-catching colors. 

Papyrus would really appreciate this model of a convertible, it was a bright, ruby red with cool streaks of black along the hood. Sans was not completely familiar with all the mechanical jargon—what did DOHC stand for? He wasn’t entirely sure, but as long as the car looked cool and drove fast, Papyrus could applaud it. 

Time felt stagnant as he read through every page and remarked on what Papyrus was sure to like, but Sans was adamant to stay at his post. His leg bounced anxiously underneath the counter, and his phalanges shook on the pages. His eye lights shot up whenever he heard a sound, but he chocked it up as forest ambiance. He felt a sudden urge to leave his station, and a haze of respite shrouded him, nearly blinding him, but he fought through the spinning. 

The feeling was there again, a heady, out-of-body feeling that he could not understand, like floating on air. His skull began to ring with white noise, and the pressure that he loathed back at the Core flared up in earnest, entrancing him to stand and run. 

Run straight back to the Core. 

He was nearly finished with his third magazine when he felt it, cold and sinister creeping along his fibula, riding up his shorts. 

It was a tendril. 

Sans gasped out in shock and kicked his legs out from out underneath his station, scrambling for purchase on the counter. He fervently reached a trembling hand down his fibula where the tendril had touched him, but there were no magic appendages to be seen. It had left no residue or mark, but it still tingled with a chill that stretched up to his soul. 

**_“Do not be afraid, come to me now.”_ **

The whisper resounded deep in his skull, as if it rang from his subconscious, and Sans frantically turned in all directions, eye lights wild in his sockets, seeking out the source of the voice. He spied deep through the trees and snow piles, and walked down to the gate to survey the area near and around the large door. 

But no one was there to greet him.  
_____________  
“I AM PLEASENTLY SURPRISED THAT YOU WANT TO SPEND THE DAY CONSTRUCTING PUZZLES AND TRAPS WITH ME TODAY, SANS,” Papyrus beamed, smile stretched endearingly wide, and he could barely contain his joy. Surely his brother was finally coming around to see how fulfilling puzzle construction could be.

After he completed his daily rounds of purchasing new materials for his traps, Papyrus spotted Sans standing hesitantly in front of his station, hood draw up and over his cranium. He looked fairly spooked and anxious about something, but when Papyrus made his presence know, Sans mood lifted on instant, and he was eager to set off and assist Papyrus with whatever he needed to get done. Which was strange, because even on his best days, Sans would hold at least a small ounce of lethargy before reluctantly following. Papyrus was a little skeptical with Sans’ sudden interest in work, but he stomped down his skepticism because Sans was finally showing interest in work! It was a bizarre, if not uncanny, feeling; Papyrus wasn’t sure if he should be exclaiming in joy or dutifully questioning his brother’s health. But he thought it would be silly to question his brother’s well-being, after all, this was a good achievement for Sans, and Papyrus thought he should be more grateful. 

“NO NAPS TODAY?” Papyrus questioned tersely as they made their way to one of his spike puzzles.

“nah, bro. not tired,” Sans replied absently, peeking over his shoulder in tense wariness. Sans shuffled his feet in the snow, allowing the cold to seep in and dampen through his slippers. 

This was a good distraction, as long as Papyrus was here, everything should be alright. 

Papyrus tilted his head quizzingly, “…THAT IS STRANGE, BUT RELIEVING! HONESTLY SANS, I WORRY THAT YOU WILL NAP YOUR LIFE AWAY WITH THE RATE YOU DOZE OFF AT YOUR POST,” Papyrus clapped his hands in approval, and his voice elevated with pride, “DON’T YOU SEE, BROTHER? YOU ARE TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF! A LEAF WHERE YOU ARE NOT A LAZY, NAPPING PILE OF BONES!” Papyrus sniffled in a manner as though he was crying from pride, “I’M SO PROUD OF YOU, SANS!”

Sans chuckled nervously, “really bro, a new leaf? i don’t think so.” 

“THERE IS NO REASON TO BE SO MODEST, THIS IS A HUGE STEP FOR YOU. YOU’VE SHOWN QUITE THE INITIATIVE TODAY!” His voice was booming, but it was laced with a tone of satisfaction that Sans couldn’t help but smile about. 

“nah, i’ll always be your lazy bag of bones brother.”

Sans had some trouble keeping up with Papyrus’ fleeting pace; his legs were much longer than Sans’, every two steps for Papyrus was like four for him, but he followed with urgency. He wanted to get as far away from his post as possible—the creeping of the tendril still held fresh in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than for this day to end.  
He strained unabashedly close to his brother as Papyrus began laying out formations of traps in the snow, and Papyrus was quick to notice. He sighed, slightly annoyed; he did not need his brother breathing over him as he worked.

Papyrus waved a hand dismissively at one of the untouched pits of snow, “SANS, WHY DON’T YOU START LAYING DOWN A FOUNDATION OVER THERE SOMEWHERE, IT WILL BE FASTER IF WE WORK IN DIFFERENT SPOTS.”

Sans sweated, “uh, sure bro.”

Sans cautiously stepped a few feet away, but did not stray too far. 

“NO SANS, OVER THERE.”

He reluctantly took a few more steps back, but he did not want to get out of his brother’s protective line of sight.

“SANS, STEP FURTHER AWAY.”

Three more feet.

Papyrus fumed, “SANS! IS THIS A SOME KIND OF PRANK?!”

Sans shrugged indifferently, “nah, bro. why don’t ya show me how’s it done?”

Sans would find any excuse to not be alone after what happened at the Core and ant his post. Papyrus sighed in exasperation again, but he relented, and showed Sans how to properly pat down snow piles to build pits for the spikes. Sans had heard this all before, but Papyrus’ extravagant voice put his disturbed mind at ease; he couldn’t hear the murmurs buzzing in his head, so he kept asking questions to drive them away with Papyrus’ usual grandeur of speech. 

But through all the noise, the constriction of magic still clenched at his ribcage. He strained to look past over Papyrus’ tall stature in search for suspicious figures. 

Papyrus did a double-take, searching through Sans’ eye sockets for recollection, “SANS, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR?” Papyrus turned around to follow Sans’ line of sight curiously, but Sans was quick to advert his eyes. 

“IS THERE SOMEONE OUT TO GET YOU OR SOMETHING?”

“nothing bro, just thought i heard something.”

“MAYBE IT WAS A SNOWDRAKE, THE TEENAGERS ARE RATHER RAMBUNCTIOUS,” Papyrus assuaged. He leaned back down in the snow pit to place more spikes in the burrows he dug out earlier in the morning, but not before eyeing his brother worryingly. Sans was acting so peculiar that Papyrus couldn’t help but question. 

“SANS, ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT TODAY? YOU SEEM ON EDGE.”

Sans struggled to hold up his smile to reassure his brother, but he could feel the corners of his smile tighten at the edges of his jaw, “yeah, bro. everything’s alright, i’m just a little tired.” 

“NO SANS, YOU LOOK WORSE THAN TIRED,” Papyrus slipped a hand out of his glove, and pressed the back of his hand on the front of sweaty Sans’ cranium. “YOU’RE A LITTLE COLD.”

Sans spluttered and flinched away from Papyrus’ magical heat that flared on the coldness of his bones, “it’s snowdin, bro. isn’t it supposed to be cold?”

Papyrus hummed low and uncertainly, “…I’M JUST MINDFUL OF YOUR HEALTH.”

He placed his hands squarely on his hips, leaned down to his brother’s level, and his eye sockets ran up and down San’s shivering frame, searching for some sort of physical ailment that might have struck his brother. 

Papyrus suddenly shot a dignified phalange in the air, mocking a pose he once saw Undyne perform during one of her monologues, “BROTHER, I HAVE COME TO A SELECTIVE SOLUTION!”

“ok, spill.”

“I HAVE DEDUCED THAT YOU ARE, IN FACT, DELIRIOUS!”

“…well, I guess that’s accurate.”

Papyrus nodded affirmingly, “SURE IT IS, DO YOU DOUBT ME?” Papyrus began counting on his fingers, “I’VE EXAMINED ALL THE ILL-EFFECTS: YOU’RE INVESTED IN YOUR WORK RATHER THAN AVOIDING IT, YOU DID NOT FALL ASLEEP AT YOUR STATION, YOU’VE BEEN CLINGING TO ME, AND YOU HAVE NOT UTTERED A SINGLE, ANNOYING PUN ALL DAY,” Papyrus shook his head, “IT SO SIMPLE, SO I ELECT THAT YOU HEAD HOME RIGHT THIS INSTANT.”

Sans playfully gasped as if offended, “there should be no excuse for wanting to spend quality brother-bonding time, papyrus.”

“NO, NO, NO EXCUSES, STRAIGHT HOME FOR YOU!”

Sans rubbed his hand tiredly at the back of his sweaty neck, “yeah, you’re probably right.”

Papyrus puffed out his chest, “OF COURSE I’M RIGHT, BUT THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. I WILL PUT THE FINISHING TOUCHES ON THE TRAPS, YOUR NEXT TASK SHOULD BE TO GO HOME AND REST.”  
_____________  
Sans’ phalange reached for his bedroom’s light switch, and the room was casted into darkness. His phalange slid off the switch and slowly scraped along the wallpaper. He kicked off his slippers and slid down the fabric of his hoodie, leaving him clad with just his shorts and a loose t-shirt. 

Papyrus was right, he was just needed some rest. A full night’s worth of sleep never hurt—he just wanted to forget that today ever happened, too much was straining at his soul. His bed’s weight sunk as he climbed on top of his mattress, sheets askew and pillow unfluffed. He snatched at the blankets and pulled them up taut underneath his chin. He clenched his eye sockets shut, but tears brimmed at the edges.

Why was this happening to him?

What did he do to deserve this? 

He just wanted it to end, he didn’t want to feel this way, tired and scared and frightful. It was a horrible feeling that would not go away. 

He scrubbed away the tears staining the corners of his sockets, and shuffled on his back to face the black ceiling. He stared up at the dark wall, and suddenly he felt angry—angry at himself for not being strong enough to deal with his own problems, always relying on other stronger monsters to protect him, particularly his brother. He pulled the blanket over his skull, took a deep breath and let out a muffled, irritable yell. He felt more satisfied with himself due the sudden outburst of emotion that threatened to break out from him all day. 

Life would go back to the way it should tomorrow. 

Sans fell asleep in a short amount of time, but in his sleep, a tight compression of weight held down his soul. The pressure had him spiraling out of his muddy dreams, his eye sockets slid open slowly, but he could not move his body; a thick surge of paralysis kept him tethered to the mattress—his arms and legs felt like a ton of lead and no matter how hard he resisted, his body would not comply. He was left to stare flinchingly at the darkness above him; the longer he stared, the more his eye sockets strained raw, and the pitch-black of his bedroom slithered up to the ceiling like possessed strands of hair. A pool of blackness spread along the expanse of the ceiling, and those strands yarned together to form a strange mass of squirming tendrils. 

Sans struggled to pull apart his jaw to scream out, but it was to no avail; his jaw was locked tight with a foreign force of numbing magic that laid him nearly comatose and lifeless on his mattress. 

He tried to reach for his light switch. 

Nothing happened. 

He tried to call out for his brother. 

Nobody came. 

Tears erupted, flowing like water down his mandible—almost nude with his flimsy shirt and shorts, he was left unarmed, cowering in his bed, frozen head to toe. He could not summon his magic, the rigid strangle of the ghostly magic held his soul at bay. He could barely hear his own thoughts, the white noise blared and pounded on his cranium, but he could not decipher the voices ringing in his thoughts. 

(wake up, wake up, wake up!)

This was just a horrible nightmare, he would wake up soon, he was sure of it. 

…But then the nightmare touched him. 

(no…no, please, no!)

A tentacle leeched down from the ceiling, curling sickeningly in the air down to his stiff body, and stroked the side of his skull lovingly, leaving a cool, tingling sensation that made his tears burn salt into his sockets. Sans flinched in apprehension, eye lights pinned into tiny, sharp dots of light. A second tendril littered from the ceiling, it haunted down his shoulder like a finger on a map, it raked its perverted curiosity down his humerus, leaving a prickling shiver of chill to sweep at his bones. It slid lower and lower, down to his radius, then to his ulna, and wormed under his shirt to squirm on his sternum, soul frantic and pounding, threatening to escape from his rib cage. Another tentacle joined the more adventurous one, wrapping together in a coil, pushing against the thin fabric of his shirt. The tentacles tugged at the seams, and with enough force, they tore right through the fabric, leaving strands of his shirt to still cling onto Sans’ bones, slick with nervous sweat. 

Now with his bones displayed, exposed, and unmarked to their liking, a flurry of tentacles shot down from the dark pool of mass above him, and staked claim on his body, churning and pushing against each other as if each tendril had a mind of its own, in a fervent battle to touch and stroke his body. They prodded at his eye sockets and twisted around his ribs, curling around his clavicles, stroking up and down his spine, and pushing at his closed teeth, begging for entry. Sans could not hold in the tremors of fear that wracked through him, but even through all the gross, squirming tendrils rolling and grueling in dull, cool trails that threatened to freeze him on the spot, he still couldn’t move, he could not bat them away in disgust, he was left there, limp, to endure the torture. 

It was a horrid sight, like intestines breaking free from the confines of a corpse.

An appendage teasingly slithered down his neck bone to snatch up his despondent soul. It laced around the element with sharp, stomach-wrenching eagerness, looping and twisting on the surface of it like an earthworm on wet grass. It pulled his soul from his rib cavity, and held it to pulse wildly, fearfully in front of his eyes, as if baiting and daring him to reach out and snatch it from the tentacle’s grasp. 

(…th—this can’t be happening! what are you? what do you want?)

Sweat rolled into the corner of his eye sockets where his tears overflowed, wet and glistening like faint light though the endless darkness around him. He dared not to blink, because he might die. The tentacle wrapped around his soul could shatter it in its unforgiving hold in an instant. Sweat mixed with tears dribbled into the corners of his mouth, and his turned-down, frozen smile twitched and constricted. 

A shy tentacle, less ardent than the others, strayed away from the frenzy to sneak along his sheets. It weaved around his tibia and up to his fibula, sneaking under his shorts. Sans tried to kick it off, but his legs laid bare and useless on his mattress.

The shy tentacle, snaked up to his spine, using the tip of its form to trace down the dip of his spine, and then to the slope of his pelvis. 

(…no, no… get off! leave me alone!)

It rode back the layer of his shorts protecting his legs and private bones connected to the body that the wormy nightmare seemed to ravish. His toes curled on his mattress, the room was frigid and dropped to an alarming temperature of winter, and the brisk air cut at his ankles. Two tendrils took notice of the shy tendril’s actions and quickly twisted around his ankles, as if the action of holding him down mattered. He couldn’t move anyway—it seemed that these magical appendages just liked to watch him suffer in fear and discomfort. 

(please, no more!)

The tip of the shy tentacle continued its assault on his lower body, grazing along the pressure points of his pelvis, prodding at his pubis and stretching tantalizingly on his iliac crest, making him shiver and weep with desperation and arousal that he did not want to feel. He was choking on his tears, and vomit settled hot and acidic at the back of his throat. He couldn’t take the constant stimulation leaking hot and cold on his bones, he couldn’t take it. He cringed out a whimper when the tendril managed to wriggle down his shorts off his pelvis, tears continued to spring at his sockets.

That was when a contrasting, warm breath murmured at the side of his skull, **_“Do not fear me, I will not harm you.”_**

Sans’ eye sockets widened in alarm. 

…He knew that voice.

…But then again, he didn’t.

It was like a hearing a voice he had heard before in a dream, but he could not remember or piece together the person that the voice belonged to. 

Sans looked past the slew of countless tentacles, over his shoulder squinting through the river of tears that accumulated there. The lights in his sockets completely vanished.  
Looming to his side was a ghostly figure, pale grey and crippled as if it required much effort to even stand straight and hold its composition together. Its body was drenched in darkness, hunched over in bulk, but it’s face glowed amidst the gloom. It watched him with empty eye sockets, bleeding black and desolately. The eerie monster’s face was wrenched up in a tattered expression, the smile elongated and nearly took up the entire creature’s face, carnivorous and sinister. The creature reached out to Sans with aged hands, within the palms of those hands were holes, darkness dripping from the crevices like grain.

Sans stuttered in shock.

It was the same creature from before, the one that wanted him to fall.

(who are you? w-w-why are you doing—doing this?)

Its smile only stretched farther, dribbles of dark magic seeping from the corners. 

**_“Hush now, that is not important.”_ **

The monster hunkered down over his form, and the tentacles slandered away, as if it commanded them. It placed its hands on either side of Sans’ head, until he could taste its breath, until he was scrunching his eye sockets in panic, until he begged for his body to move away. The monster’s mouth wrenched open, pulling apart like tough clay, and a purple, thin tongue emerged from the abyss of its anatomy. 

**_“You do not need to cry,”_** It’s throaty tone of voice was grinning mockingly at him. The tongue slithered down the corners of his sockets to lick his tears away, but the thick, black saliva only blinded him. 

**_“Even your tears are delicious, like sparkle salt.”_ **

Sans found himself drunk off this monster’s magic; light-headed and fuzzy, unable to think and see through the shapes and figures in his bedroom. He wanted to sob out, but the creature pecked softly at the corner of his jaw, making him cower at the little taste of heat the smacked off his bones at the contact. How was it that this creature was so hot, yet the room was so cold?

(…what are you doing?)

 ** _“I said hush now, be still and be silent.”_**

His tears rolled up in elevation, as the moisture in the creature’s musky breath kissed along his clavicles, letting it whisper on the cord of his neck, and its empty eyes followed Sans’ stares, grinning savagely. With one of its unattended hands, the monster made a strange gesture unbeknownst to Sans, it’s long, lithe fingers swaying and forming unintelligible symbols the air, casting a breeze. The teasing tendril that still had his soul fluttering maddingly in its grasp, huddled down obediently, and released its cold hold on his soul. The magical appendage hovered down, but the monster was quick to snatch it up between its thumb and forefinger, squeezing his soul with compressing heat that wrung out like water; Sans’ soul was just that tiny and feeble.

(no, no give that back!)

 ** _“Shhh, be a good boy for me now, I promised that I will not harm you.”_**

The ghostly monster examined his soul with dexterity, but there was something behind that look, as if it was plotting something behind the sensuality. The monster brought his soul closer to its unhinged jaw, and clamped a tiny bite that prickled at the surface. 

(stop it, please! no, give it back, give it back!)

The creature paid no heed to Sans’ constant begging, and pitilessly glided its tongue all around the surface of his soul, sopping it drenched with black magic that ran hot like magma over it. The monster kept a steady pace, rolling its tongue all over the magic appendage till it was soft, wet, and soggy enough to its liking and eyeing Sans’ reactions and hot-spots. Globs of fat tears furled down his cheekbones, he just wanted it to stop, he didn’t want to feel anymore. The monster’s slop-gushing tongue did not cease till the entirety of Sans’ soul was dripping with black magic, stripping the soul from its usual white, halo-like glow, and Sans could not stave off the spark of arousal that broke the barrier of his fear. 

(i can’t take it anymore…please stop…)

The monster only chuckled deeply and leaned down to drag its slobbery tongue along his teeth, tar seeping through the cracks and running down to meet below the empty space underneath Sans’ neck. Sans was left to taste the remnants of its magic without meaning to, and the creature flicked the tip of its tongue off the saliva accumulating on Sans’ bones. 

**_“You are so precious, so beloved, so adorned.”_ **

**_“I want to keep you all to myself.”_ **

Sans could only blink through his tears, as his useless body still refused to fight back. The creature caressed a lone, skinny finger to catch the tear that threatened to fall onto its fingertip. It brought the tear up to its vacant eyes, examining the fragile dap of wetness, and brought the fingertip to its mouth to taste it. 

**_“…So treasured, so delicate, like my perfect little doll.”_ **

Sans shut his sockets in disgust, just what the hell was this thing talking about? How does it know him? Why does it want him? 

With his soul still between his fingers, the creature traced its free hand on the ridges of Sans’ spine, tickling the rigid bones with relaxing warmth that made Sans shudder. The fingers continued their curious trek down his spine, laying to rest on his iliac crest, and Sans tried choke down the way his spine attempted to arch into its touch. His hips so desperately wanted to roll into that warmth, and his jaw attempted to open up to strangle out a moan, but no sound came out. 

He was so disgusting, finding pleasure in an aberrant monster’s stealing, fleeting touches. 

A monster—no, a rapist—that staked claim on his bones without his consent, and tortured him with unwanted sensations. 

However, the creature drank up his reactions, and the heavy spell it seemed to bewitch onto Sans had his head dizzier than any flu, wrapped around in a daze-like headspace. 

(please make it stop, i don’t want to feel anything anymore!) 

The monster’s hold on his soul tightened. 

(no, no, no, make it stop, please make it stop!)

The monster’s voice and aggression coiled like a snake, vocals hissing, **_“No matter how much you beg or plead, you will be mine. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”_**

The touches on his pelvis did not burn, but it was left to ache in titillation, and the creature rearranged the soul so that it rested between the expanse of all its fingers. When Sans was hot and flustered enough, the monster unexpectedly quashed his soul with force, black magic dripping out between its fingers like blood. Sans’ eye sockets bulged and his jaw strained to open out into a scream. The tears started to gush and stream, but the monster only chuckled darkly, and leaned down to lick away the tears, but the thick slobber nearly filled the empty space in his skull, leaving Sans to choke back bile. Sans tried to holler and shout and thrash, but his mouth wouldn’t work and his body wouldn’t move, so he was left to take it. 

The fingers squeezed tighter and tighter; he was so scared.

He was going to die. 

He was going to die!

He was going to die from this nightmare!

“SANS, ARE YOU SLEEPING!?”

Sans jolted from his mattress that was pooled with his sweat and tears. His bones were rattling uncontrollably, and thick heaves erupted from him. 

Papyrus was knocking abrasively from the other side of his bedroom door, “I JUST CAME TO CHECK UP ON YOU AND MAKE SURE YOU WERE RESTING.”

Sans could only scour his room in search for perverse tendrils and creepy ghost figures. 

But he was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> You are all so lovely for plowing through that mess. 
> 
>  


End file.
